


Story of my life, I do laundry all night

by heartequals (savvygambols)



Series: i do my laundry better when i'm with you [1]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Character study? I guess?, Coming Out, Gen, M/M, doing laundry as a metaphor for the slow development of personal growth, friendship!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:10:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22891918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/savvygambols/pseuds/heartequals
Summary: Easily the worst thing about being on an ELC was that Travis could not afford a laundry service.
Relationships: Travis Konecny & Nolan Patrick
Series: i do my laundry better when i'm with you [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1645495
Comments: 4
Kudos: 141





	Story of my life, I do laundry all night

**Author's Note:**

> I had writer’s block so bad that it was causing problems in my personal life, so I challenged myself to write hockey vignettes on a theme to help myself out of it. The theme was laundry. WHATEVER WORKS, MAN ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> This should probably also technically be tagged as Travis Konecny/OMC but that felt like it would carry more weight than the relationship in the fic actually has, which is mostly just two people flirting briefly in a laundry room and making vague plans. But the concept of the relationship is very much there so if that’s not your jam, much respect to you, pls find something else to read.
> 
> None of this is real :((

Easily the worst thing about being on an ELC was that Travis could not afford a laundry service. Or, well, Travis could afford it, probably, but it felt like a luxury he didn’t yet deserve. Maybe if his agent and the Flyers ever ended up agreeing to a contract that didn’t fucking suck, then Travis could both afford and deserve a laundry service.

It wasn’t like Travis couldn’t do laundry or didn’t know how to -- his billet mom in the 67’s had set him straight in that arena within a week of him moving in, telling him that doing laundry built more character than hockey -- but he was a busy hockey player who did a lot of travelling and was very lazy about household chores. It was boring. Also, the laundry room was in the basement and it was cold and creepy down there.

“You could get a girlfriend,” was advice he’d gotten from one of his teammates, but that had just ended up sparking an argument in the locker room about equitable division of household chores. It only ended with G threatening to sic Ryanne on them if they didn’t all go home and take their wives and girlfriends out to dinner to fucking apologize for being who they were.

Travis didn’t have a wife or a girlfriend, by cosmic design, so he just went home and ordered extra dumplings and played Call of Duty with Patty for the rest of the day. Patty didn’t have a girlfriend either but he never complained about laundry. Or about not having a girlfriend. 

Travis never complained about that too because while he wasn’t like, the brightest bulb in the lunchbox, he still was smart enough not to say anything around the guys about romance. First of all, because they were assholes as a general rule, second because that was a conversation he was not ready for, at all. At least not while he was still on an ELC.

The clock tripped over itself into midnight while Patty was still yelling at him for dying by friendly fire in the current campaign, which was a metaphor in and of itself if Travis examined his laundry situation too closely. 

Travis paused the game. “I gotta do laundry,” he said mournfully.

Patty narrowed his eyes. “I’m not doing it for you,” he said and set down his controller to grab the last dumpling.

“Where--when the fuck did I ask you?” said Travis. “That was a statement of fact. Split that with me, dick.”

Patty took a huge bite out of it and passed the rest to Travis. “Go do your laundry,” he said, mouth full. Travis grimaced at him. Patty shrugged. “I’m going to bed.”

“It’s only midnight,” Travis said and stuffed his half of the dumpling in his mouth.

“It’s going to take you an hour and a half to do laundry at least,” said Patty. “I’m not staying up that late. Work out tomorrow?”

“Yeah, sure,” said Travis. Patty saved the game and got up off the couch. Travis picked up a fortune cookie and watched Patty let himself out.

“Try laundry beer,” said Patty on his way out of the door.

“What?” said Travis.

“Like shower beer, but with laundry,” said Patty.

“You’re so fucking weird,” said Travis and threw the fortune cookie at him. Patty caught it and left.

But Travis didn’t have any other way to make doing laundry not tedious as hell as so he grabbed his laundry basket, detergent, and a beer and went downstairs to the laundry room.

The laundry room was as cold and creepy as ever. Too sterile and brightly lit compared to the rest of the building. Travis wished someone would hang some art on the walls or at least add some color to make it less impersonal.

Darrell the cute gay guy from down the hall that Travis liked to flirt with on the dl was down there sorting his lights and his darks. Travis smiled at him. Darrell smiled back and then looked confused. “Is that beer?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Travis happily. A cute guy and a beer; he could work with this laundry situation. He set his basket down.

“On a weeknight, at midnight,” said Darrell. “In the laundry room.” He looked concerned. “Not to pry but like, are you okay?”

“What? Yeah.” Travis shrugged and started measuring detergent. “I just don’t like doing laundry.”

“So you brought beer?”

“I _really_ don’t like doing laundry,” said Travis and winked at him.

Darrell rolled his eyes, but blushed a little, which was why Travis always liked messing with him, and went back to sorting his laundry. Travis dumped all his laundry in without sorting it and started the machine.

“See you around,” said Travis to Darrell. He took a sip of his beer, maintaining eye contact, just to see what Darrell would do.

“Hey,” said Darrell. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, sure,” said Travis.

“That guy you’re always with,” he said. “Is he your boyfriend?”

“Nah, just my best friend,” said Travis. “We work together. He lives a floor up from us so we carpool and hang out and stuff. Jesus, it’d be mutually assured destruction if we dated.”

Darrell furrowed his brow which was so fucking cute that Travis held his gaze a little longer as he drank this time.

“Good,” said Darrell. “‘cause you guys fight like, all the time. I was kinda worried, but I thought, well, maybe it’s just a closeted hockey player thing. Like I would be arguing with my boyfriend all the time too if I was deeply closeted and being paid to play a sport as aggro as hockey. Not that I have a boyfriend. Or that I know what it is like to play hockey.”

Travis choked on his beer.

“You know who I am?” he wheezed.

Darrell picked up a black HIFE Pride shirt with the Flyers logo on it from his darks pile and held it up wordlessly.

“Oh fuck,” said Travis, blanching. He set his beer down on the lid of the washing machine so he didn’t drop it on the floor. “I didn’t--oh fuck. I thought you didn’t know who I was! You never said!”

“Kinda hard to miss who you are on ice,” said Darrell with a small smile that was so kind that Travis didn’t think he deserved it, not really.

“We’re not dating,” said Travis. “He’s uh, not gay. To my knowledge. And I know him pretty well.”

“Good,” said Darrell. “Can I have some of your beer? I can keep a secret.”

Travis didn’t know what to say to that. “Blackmailing me already?” he joked half-heartedly as he passed his beer over to Darrell. Darrell shook his head. 

“I wouldn’t,” he said. “I know what it’s like to be super closeted. I’m not gonna out you.”

He still chugged half the beer though, while holding Travis’ gaze the entire time. Travis felt himself flushing.

“It’d be cool if I could take you out to dinner, though,” said Darrell.

“Oh,” said Travis.

He was at a loss for words. He hated being speechless.

“No pressure, you can say no,” said Darrell gently. He gave Travis his beer back. “Just thought I’d ask. You seem like a fun guy.”

Travis said, “uh, I mean, you’re not gonna call the Athletic if I say no, right? Call them up and be like, hey, the Flyers have a gay guy on their team but he’s not out to anyone and he was flirting with me all year but shot me down while we were doing laundry?”

“No,” said Darrell shaking his head. “I would never.” He smirked. “Might call your mom about how you don’t sort your laundry though.”

Travis gave himself time to think about this while chugging the rest of the beer. Darrell laughed at him, a sort of delighted giggle that put Travis over the edge.

“Okay,” Travis said, when he finished drinking. “Let’s get dinner sometime. That would be fun.”

“Really? Great,” said Darrell. He pulled out his phone. “Text me your number.”

Travis went upstairs with a phone number, a cute date, and an empty bottle of beer, feeling light-headed. He grabbed another beer and sat down on his couch. He’d left all the empty take-out containers on the table. Patty was a real dick for not helping him clean up before leaving.

Travis got up off the couch and went upstairs to Patty’s apartment. He knocked on the door several times before remembering he had a key to Patty’s apartment that Patty had given to him after he’d gotten sick of getting out of bed to answer the door in the morning when Travis came over just because he had run out of milk.

Travis opened the door and fell straight into Patty’s chest as Patty swung the door back.

“It’s one in the fucking morning, Teeks,” said Patty, shoving him back. He sounded unimpressed and looked sleepy but he turned around and let Travis follow him deeper into the apartment. Travis went straight to his sofa and threw himself on it.

“Wanna tell me why you’re drunk in my apartment with beer like an asshole?” said Patty.

“I’m not drunk, I was doing laundry. You’re my best friend, right?” said Travis.

“How fucking old are we?” said Patty. He sat down next to Travis.

“No, shut up, this is important. You’re my best friend. So you can’t yell at me for this. Or hate me. Or you can hate me and yell at me but you can’t like, do anything.”

“I can do what I want,” said Patty.

Travis handed him his beer. “Just, don’t do anything bad, okay?” he said. “I’m serious, Nolan.”

Patty looked a little startled at the use of his real name. He drank Travis’ beer.

“I have a date,” said Travis. “With a guy.”

Patty was quiet, looking at Travis carefully.

“I’m gay,” said Travis. “The only other person who knows besides my exes is my billet mom in Ottawa.”

“Jesus,” said Patty.

“Don’t do anything,” Travis warned him.

Patty was silent for a bit. Travis let him sit in silence. Travis was noisy by nature and Patty usually matched him when the two of them were alone but Patty seemed like he needed time to think. Maybe some space too but Travis wasn’t about to fucking leave him.

“What--uh,” said Patty. “What’s it like?”

“What’s what like?”

Patty waved a hand at him. “Being you.”

Travis thought about it for a second. “Pretty fucking great,” he said. “I got a good life, man.”

“That’s good,” said Patty. “It would suck if you had a shitty life.”

“Nah, I’m blessed,” said Travis.

“Gross,” said Patty. “Don’t be soft in my living room.”

Travis shoved him and Patty shoved him back, then sat back and finished his beer. Travis’ phone chimed with an alert--his wash cycle was done.

“I gotta switch my laundry,” said Travis.

Patty said, “you want another beer? Oh shit, is laundry beer is how you got a date?”

“Yeah,” said Travis. He smiled when Patty did, both of them smiling sort of small at each other. “Yeah, it was one of your more okay ideas.”

“Never doubt me,” said Patty and stood up. Travis took a moment to stare at the shitty art on Patty’s wall, to let Patty have a moment to himself.

Patty got Travis another beer and followed him to the door. “I wouldn’t do anything bad,” Patty said, right before he opened the door. “Not to you.”

“You shouldn’t be doing anything bad to anyone about something like this,” said Travis.

“No fucking shit, I wouldn’t, I’m not a fucking homophobe. I just--I wouldn’t do anything bad to you, okay? Not ever, not about the important things. I’ve got your back, Travis.”

“Thanks, Pats,” said Travis, touched.

“You can trust me,” Patty insisted. “I’ll fuck up anyone who holds this or anything else against you.”

His cheeks were brighter than usual and his eyes were bright. He looked so fully, wonderfully determined to make sure that Travis knew that Patty was his ride or die that Travis hugged him.

“Get off me,” said Patty, making no move to pry him off.

“Thanks bro,” said Travis. He squeezed Patty as tight as possible, just to be a dick, and then let go. “See you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, bye,” said Patty. He was a little breathless from being hugged so tight. He ran a hand through his hair, grimacing. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Travis saluted him with his beer and went back to the basement.

He threw all his laundry in the dryer and started the cycle. He stared blankly at the dryer for a moment, and then slid down to the floor, leaning against the dryer. It was warm against his back and the vibrations felt sort of good, sort of painful. The wall across from him had scuff marks from laundry baskets brushing against it for years.

Travis put his head in his hands to take some deep breaths and like, regain some equilibrium. Emotional breakdowns in the laundry room were a bad look though, so when he was reasonably sure he could stand without collapsing, he got up and went back to his apartment to clean up while his laundry dried.

Patty texted him right as Travis finished throwing all the take out containers away.

_don’t wear your stupid tie on the date_ he said.

It was one thirty in the goddamn morning. Usually when Patty texted him this late at night, it was because they were on a cross-country flight home and he didn’t want to get fined for disturbing the peace. If Travis was ever up this late talking to Patty, it was because Patty was right there in his living room for Travis to talk to.

Before Travis could figure out how to respond, Patty followed up with _wear the good tie_

_all my ties are good fuck off_

_youre wrong and you know it_ said Patty.

_pretty sure the gay guy knows more about fashion than you_ said Travis because he had to make a joke, he had to, he had to know if Patty would be okay with this. If this was why Patty was texting him so late at night, so that they could regain some equilibrium in their relationship too.

_pretty sure the gay guy has multiple novelty snapbacks in camo with fish on them_ Patty shot back within seconds, like that was a point against Travis somehow.

_i still get dates with my camo fish hats what’s your excuse??_ said Travis.

_just waiting for the right person i guess_ said Patty.

_you can borrow one of my hats if you want ;)_

_die_ said Patty and Travis knew they were going to be okay.

Travis fell asleep on the couch waiting for his laundry to finish and woke up the next morning to a couple of texts from Darrell about dinner options with the promise that _they’re all casual :)_, his team group chat blowing up over an argument on the best restaurants to take their wives and girlfriends to for apology meals, a voicemail from his agent, and a text from Patty asking if Travis wanted anything from Wawa.

Travis listened to the voicemail. It was the same old shit every time his agent called; no movement on the Flyers’ side, his agent demanding more money, and every other fucking pending-UFA waiting to see what the first guy to fold would do. Hopefully fucking Nylander would sign soon and set some kind of industry standard.

He called his agent after he retrieved his laundry, changed into clean clothes, brushed his teeth, responded to Darrell, told his team they were irresponsible and hopeless losers, and was drinking coffee in Patty’s kitchen while Patty sleepily ate toast at the table across from him.

“I want to stay in Philly,” he told his agent.

“I want you to get paid.”

“I want to get paid but I want to stay in Philly more,” said Travis.

“I’m not telling Fletcher that,” said his agent.

“Sure, okay,” said Travis. “Just keep it in mind while you negotiate for me though.”

Patty snorted into his toast.

His agent’s eye roll was almost audible. “I will.”

Travis hung up. He drank his coffee and stole a piece of Patty’s toast.

“You want to stay in Philly more than get paid?” Patty mumbled around a bite.

“Obviously I want to get paid a lot,” said Travis. “I could afford not to do laundry if I did. I could afford for someone else to do my laundry if I sign a real contract.”

“But if you don’t meet cute guys in creepy laundry rooms, where else are you going to meet them?” said Patty.

Travis gaped at him for a second. “Are you making fun of me, you asshole?”

“You got a guy’s number while drinking beer in the laundry room at midnight,” said Patty. “Fucking obviously I’m going to make fun of you. Jesus Christ, laundry beer was a _joke_.”

“Wow, fuck you,” said Travis. “But it fucking worked wonders so maybe you should try it.”

“Not that desperate,” said Patty and he looked smug when he caught in his mouth a piece of toast Travis threw at him.

Travis’ phone buzzed with a text notification from their team’s group chat. Patty picked up his own phone and read the text message out loud, someone asking if they knew the most romantic place to get Italian food in Germantown. Travis stole another piece of toast while Patty read. He picked up his own phone.

_you ever heard of yelp ya boomers_ he shot off and drank his coffee while Patty choked on his toast.

Travis’ phone lit up with another text message. Darrell had texted him a neat little smiley face and a _see you tonight!_

Travis smiled, pleased, and put his phone down so he could watch Patty asphyxiate on toast, swear at him, and laugh at the outraged responses in the group chat all at the same time. 

Fuck, Travis hoped he would stay in Philly. His life was so good here.

It would be nice if he could pay someone to do his laundry though.

**Author's Note:**

> \- TK’s wedding vows in ten years to whomever he convinces to marry him absolutely contain the following: “to have and to hold--to do laundry before midnight and to remember to fold it before we go to bed.” Lessons fucking LEARNED.
> 
> \- (Perhaps, even: “I’m not doing your fucking laundry,” Pats tells him, scandalizing two entire church pews worth of their great aunts and uncles.)


End file.
